


To the Barricades!- BBC Les Mis

by AberrantAngel



Category: Les Misérables (TV 2018)
Genre: BBC Les Mis - Freeform, Gen, M/M, but what did you expect, i don't know how to tag, its les mis, people die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 15:35:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20117434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AberrantAngel/pseuds/AberrantAngel
Summary: A series of events taking place before the barricade and one occurring after. Each chapter is a mini piece (in some cases very mini) from a different character’s perspective. It includes as many characters as I had time for!





	1. Mabeuf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aaymeirah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaymeirah/gifts).

> Hello Aaymeirah (and future readers)! I wanted to give you as much as I could from the requests I received (It's mostly the third request). I hope you are happy with the results! :)

Fate crossed the line when he lost all of his books.

Monsieur Mabeuf could no longer afford to live. He could no longer afford the green shrubs and vibrant flowers outside his house, now shrivelling and browning. The wood of his bookshelves was fully visible without any treasured volumes to fill out each level. His fiercest passions were stolen from him during the night. He had sold his books in order to scrape together meals. He had abandoned his garden, unable to purchase new seeds. Poverty stole everything from him and now he understood why the students were running through the streets, planning in secret.

It was impossible to standby and watch. This new generation was fighting for a republic that would benefit those that suffered under the higher classes. Before it had not seemed like his place. What did an old man have to contribute to a youthful rebellion? His withered bones did not allow him to fight. He had no knowledge of medicine, so could not help the injured fighters. Yet, now, looking at his empty library and dead yard, something incendiary flickered inside him.

He scoured his barren house for the first red, white, and blue fabrics he could find and a sewing kit. The three fabrics produced three circles, which were then sewn concentrically onto each other forming the revolutionaries’ badge of freedom. Mabeuf proclaimed his place in the revolution as he pinned the tri-color rosette to his jacket.

He straightened his spine and held his head high as he took to the streets. There was no need for a map. He followed students and workers making their way towards the Rue Mondétour where he found students stacking furniture into a great barricade. Hope colored their eyes and cheers of passionate loyalty to the revolution filled their throats. All across the street chairs and tables rained down from windows. 

Mabeuf crossed under an archway before the fully constructed barricade of rue de la Chanvrerie came into view. His heart raced with a revolutionary fervor at the sight.

“Monsieur,” Gavroche, a young child he had seen around the streets, ended up next to him, “You don’t want to be outdoors today.”

“Oh, I think I do.” Mabeuf responded confidently.

The inspired relic of a man stood on the barricade with the younger generation. He felt their passionate loyalty to bettering the world coursing through his veins. In this moment Monsieur Mabeuf knew, he would do anything for the rebellion.


	2. Eponine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eponine is sad and Azelma isn't doing so well either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So precursor here, I know that what is about to happen does not happen in BBC, but I needed to finish Azelma's story since they did not. Also, I did not know I was going to make this chapter sad...sorry. Also this is kind of the first request! Alternate title: i took it into my own hands fic gives me too much power.

“You had to go and fall for a pinning idiot, didn’t you?” Eponine said to herself as she threw a rock into the Seine. It was raining so the stone street was becoming slippery. Without any shoes she had slipped and bruised her arms as she walked.

She was meant to be returning to her little sister, Azelma, but she needed a moment to herself. A moment to mourn the loss of her only love to some blonde girl Monsieur Marius had only seen a few times. Her life was a pitiful mess. Her father was out of the picture, her mother was rotting in prison, her brother was wandering alone in the city, and her sister was starving to death in a dark and desolate alley.

It was all too much. For years Eponine had taken every terrible event in stride and remained strong. But now she couldn’t bear the weight anymore. For the first time since Eponine could remember, she cried. It was safe to cry in the rain. Azelma would mistake the tears for raindrops. No harm could come from hidden tears.

She threw another stone into the seine before deciding to head back to the alley where her sister was waiting. Along the way all she could think about was Marius Pontmercy. How kind he had been to her, and how he was now marching towards his death. That was his own choice though. If he wanted to go to the barricades Eponine had no way of stopping him. Marius made his feelings towards her perfectly clear on several occasions. Her pleas would not bring him away from his death wish.

When she reached the alley she brushed away leftover droplets on her face before turning the corner. There was her little sister, the one who had lost all of her sass and charisma after their mother was left in prison. Both of them knew without saying that their mother would die in shackles.

“Are you too cold?” she asked Azemla as shivers ran through the younger’s body. It was summer and the air was warm, so the tremors only meant one thing: Azelma was sick.

“No, Ponine, I’m okay,” Azelma forced a weak smile onto her face, “What has you concerned, you were gone for a long time.”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve come back sooner. A lot has been going on…”

“It’s that man isn’t it? The one that used to stay next door?” When Eponine did not respond Azelma continued, “You should go to him Eponine. I’ll be okay on my own.”

“No, without mom and dad I have to take care of you. I’m in charge.”

“Eponine,” Azelma strained her muscles so she could take her older sister’s hand, “We both know that I am very ill. He is more of a future than me.”

“Shhhh, Azelma. You need to rest. We can talk about this in the morning.”

The poor, young child Azelma Thenardier had been ill for a long time. It seemed that her time had come as her dreams faded into nothingness. That night she slipped into the deepest sleep, the kindest rest, one which she would never wake from.

When morning came Eponine had nothing left. She bowed her head and decided: she would go to the barricades.


	3. Gavroche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavroche is excited for the revolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter, sorry. Alternate Title: A short bit for a short boy.

Paris was an exciting city. Every day the tension in the air was pulled tighter. Gavroche knew the city very well, and he knew that the tension was about to snap. This, of course, thrilled him.

Revolution was a simple sport to him. An easy objective: win. Commonplace equipment: guns, bayonets, and swords. The usual set up: two teams playing for victory. Whoever shoots the most people wins. Gavroche had never played this game before, but he figured it must be exhilarating since it happened so often in Paris.

It would come in the next few days. The students were not discreet enough in their planning to get past the eyes of a mischievous child. Gavroche decided to follow of the arms traders to a cafe called the Musain. He had heard that name murmured in the streets before, and he knew it had something to do with the revolution. Of course he wanted to go there.

The cafe reeked of alcohol and it was ridiculously full of people bustling around, trying to give whatever help they could to The Cause. On an upper platform level of the room was a group of people gathered around a table covered in maps. He pushed his way between bodies until he could at least hear the conversation.

“We could have another barricade here, at the Corinthe.” A stranger suggested.

Gavroche smiled. He knew exactly where the Corinthe was, and that without a doubt he was going to be there. On his way to find an acceptable place to sleep he imagined the adrenaline and exhilaration he would be feeling soon enough.

***

The booming sounds of shotguns tore Gavroche from his sleep. It wasn’t the most pleasant way to get up, but he soon realized what this meant. Revolution was a sport, and the referee had just shouted “begin”.


	4. Courfeyrac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac has some doubts, but otherwise has a pretty good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea how much of a Courfeyrac stan I was until I wrote this. Alternate Title: Am I a Courf stan, scientists can't tell.

Courfeyrac woke up feeling refreshed. He couldn’t remember a single time when he hadn’t woken up ready to start the day. It was a part of his charm. He was young, handsome, and hardly ever cranky. In short, he was the most desirable man in Paris, whether you knew it or not.

Unfortunately that morning was not a usual one. Enjolras had become hooked on the idea of participating in a revolution at General Lamarque’s funeral. That meant his breakfast had to be a lot shorter than he would like. Plus, he had to pick up Grantaire on his way to Enjolras because there was no way the drunkard was going to get up on his own.

Marius was still asleep in the guest bed. Ever since he saw that girl in the park he was stuck in his own little world. Courfeyrac didn’t want to say his inability to help his best friend bothered him… but it definitely did. And the revolution, obviously, was not on his mind. What could possibly go wrong there?

After changing out of his night clothes and mending his bed-head, Courfeyrac set out for the day. He decided to grab breakfast at a small cafe near his flat. It was his go-to place for the best baked goods and people to mingle with. But today the people in the cafe seemed more focused on preparing for the events planned for later, events Courfeyrac did not feel prepared for.

He pushed his worries away as he stepped up to the counter, “Hello Mademoiselle Floreal, and good morning!”

“Monsieur Courfeyrac, it’s always good to see you, the girl smiled brightly at him, “What would you like today?”

“Hmmmm,” he leaned forward on the counter, “What is the best baked delight this morning?”

“A fresh batch of croissants just came out of the oven. I’d advise you to get your hands on one while we still have some left.”

“Alright, I always trust the judgement of such a lovely person. Two croissants please.”

The girl blushed before handing him two wrapped up croissants with warmth seeping through the paper covering. On his way out of the cafe he turned back to flash a winning grin at the girl.

Outside of the shop the streets were busier than usual, which is to say, Courfeyrac had to offer many apologies for bumping into almost everyone near him. No matter what street he turned to the revolution was the only concern.

But with the increase in comontion there was an increase of police presence, which was putting people on edge. It wasn’t the charming and comforting city Courfeyrac knew so well.

It wasn’t as if he did not support the revolution. He was prepared to die for his country just as much as Enjolras, but he wasn’t so keen on watching other people die-- watching his friends die. That would be too much. And if he did not return Marius would lose everything he had for the second time. Alas that couldn’t be his concern of the minute. It was time to care for a different heavy-hearted friend, one more inclined to needing supervision: Grantaire.

Grantaire who had somehow pledged to fight to the death for the revolution he had previously shown no interest in. Not many people knew the depths of Grantaire or why he would do such a thing. Courfeyrac did, though, and knew his friend would not be changing his mind.

After entering the building he smiled brightly at the landlady when he passed. By that point that lady knew his face very well.

“Ah, Monsieur Courfeyrac, I don’t think your friend is awake yet,” she eyed him up and down, “Looking quite nice today.”

“Thank you, and you are looking lovely as always. As for Grantaire, we have plans today so he better not be too cranky.”

“Oh Monsieur, you flatter me.”

“Nonsense,” Courfeyrac winked at her before climbing the rickety stairs.

Once he was outside Grantaire’s room he knocked as loudly as he could muster and called out his friend’s name. That man could sleep through a battlefield.

A vague series of noises made their way through the door. Clearly Grantaire was rushing around trying to appear long awake by the time he opened the door. Courfeyrac wasn’t sure why he was making that effort, he’d seen far worse of his friend. Suddenly the door swung open to reveal a semi-presentable Grantaire.

“Oh it’s you Courf. I thought that Enjolras might come by this morning.” That explained it.

“Right, well I’m here to bring you to Enjolras. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

“I know.” Grantaire said, the words holding the same feeling of sinking as Courfeyrac felt in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This stems from the fact that Courf looked pretty scared whenever revolution was mentioned. I tried my best with the bbc characterization.


	5. Grantaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is not having a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knows, not I. This is just what happened. Also fun fact, while writing I realized I always refer to Enjolras as “the blonde one” and things like that... but I couldn’t do that here so it was an interesting challenge. Alternate Title: At 3am I write angst (is this angst?)

The previous night was not a pleasant one. It wasn’t a night spent at the tavern getting drunk with the other fools. Instead Grantaire had stayed with the most dangerous company he knew and no one else: himself. And he had spent it drenched in regret.

If it had been anyone else Grantaire would not have been idiotic enough to promise loyalty to the death. Hell, he didn’t even know that’s what he would do when Enjolras had started speaking. Yet, of course he did. How was he ever surprised by his actions around Enjolras? That man could tell him to stop breathing and he’d try his best to obey. This loyalty was getting out of hand. But he knew well enough it wasn’t just loyalty.

Back when Marius had sulked into the Musain over his poor lost heart Grantaire had sympathized for a short moment of weakness before pulling on his regular happy-go-lucky demeanor. It was best not to think too much about it. Acknowledging what he felt hurt more than anything he knew.

Besides, Enjolras could never see him as a person worth his time. When Grantaire announced his participation in the revolt and held onto Enjolras’s arm the look on his opposite’s face was priceless. In a way Grantaire was proud to have produced such a reaction from a man so keen on keeping a marble facade.

Some part of Grantaire had wished that Enjolras would come to fetch him in the morning. Alas, Courfeyrac was the one at his door, but it wasn’t such a big disappointment when his friend shoved a croissant into his hand.

“You better eat now, today will be busy,” Courfeyrac let himself into the messy room and draped himself onto a chair. “Although perhaps we can sit around here for a bit before we head out. A little calm before the storm of sorts. What do you say?”

“The longer I am in my home the better,” Grantaire gladly agreed and sat across from his friend. “Do you want to play dominoes?”

The game began, but they would never finish it. After only a few minutes they were fully immersed in conversation. Topics ranged from their breakfast, things they wished for, and dramatic retellings of past exploits. The conversation steered blatantly clear of love and revolution. Grantaire indulged himself in several bottles of wine while Courfeyrac stayed uncharacteristically sober.

Eventually Courfeyrac stood up and stretched before glancing outside, “The streets are getting busier. We should try to find Enjolras before everything gets too crowded.”

“I guess you’re right.” Grantaire heaved himself up from his chair. “Let’s go overthrow the king.” He huffed out a bitter laugh.

Everything about the plan was wrong. People were just going to hurt other people, and what would come of it? Enjolras was going to end up hurting people and Grantaire didn’t know if he could watch the man he cared for kill in cold blood. He didn’t even know it he could watch Enjolras bleed without breaking. It was possible that his last hope in the world would die alone and helpless. But not if Grantaire could do anything about it, He would never let Enjolras die without him. Why had life cursed him to feel such strong emotions? Especially for such an unattainable man. 

Grantaire tried to put everything he was feeling in a box as he left his apartment, but it was too much to file away. They were all going to bleed, kill, and die. Grantaire could sense tragedy in the wind.


	6. Enjolras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is having a pretty good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo I'm not the biggest fan of BBC Enjolras's characterization.......... but I tried to stick to at least some BBC canon for the sake of this being the BBC exchange. Also I'm 93% sure this fits with the show's timeline. If not....sorry. Alternate Title: Mustache Man Strikes Back.

France deserved to be a republic. The wondrous country that had birthed many an intellectual and artist was owed a proper government, and Enjolras was certain that he would do anything to bring in a new age.

The moment Enjolras heard whispers about a revolution he felt super-charged. Finally, an opportunity to give back to his patria. And now the day was upon him. It was time to rise up against tyranny. It was June 5th of 1832, and he knew that day would echo through history.

Enjolras had woken up especially early in order to discuss strategy with his comrades at the Musain. The room was busier than he’d ever seen it. Despiat was rushing around from table to table ensuring that every working man and student alike was prepared.

“Comrade!” Despiat led Enjolras to the back of the room, where there was less commotion to speak over. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, Despiat. Everyone we spoke to before is still committed to the cause right?”

“Of course, all that’s left is for the people of Paris to join us.”

“And they will. Without a doubt.” Enjolras smiled, “Once they see our example they will know is the time to act, the time to save our country from the grasp of greedy kings.”

“You are right, my friend. Can I send you on an errand, for the republic of course?”

“Anything,” Enjolras responded resolutely.

“We needs firearms to distribute to our comrades. They are stored at the bookshop two streets over. Ask for the latest Hugo novel and the shopkeeper will give a bundle to bring back here. Once you’ve returned you can take what you need.”

Enjolras shook his hand, “I will be back soon, citizen.”

Even at that early hour, the streets were scattered with police. Enjolras remained as inconspicuous as possible, stopping at a shop for bread, to seem like a simple early-riser picking up breakfast. Going straight to a bookshop first thing in the morning was not exactly normal behavior and someone, whether an officer or a spy, would notice. He would not allow the revolution to be threatened before it even began.

There was an officer position directly across from the bookshop, so Enjolras stopped and looked at the bookshop thoughtfully. He hoped that he appeared to be entering the shop on a whim. Once the door was completely closed behind him Enjolras’s face lost the whimsy and turned serious.

“Hello citizen, I would like a copy of Hugo’s latest novel.” Then man behind the counter nodded knowingly and went into a back room before returning with a burlap wrapped box.

“Thank you for your generous purchase,” the shopkeeper said as the door swung open, allowing the officer passage into the building. Enjolras offered a nod of false respect to the officer before heading outside and walking briskly back to the Musain, which was somehow even busier than before.

“Enjolras!” Despiat took the box from him, “The revolution comments you, how many guns will you and your friends need?”

Enjolras considered the question. He would need one for himself, and Courfeyrac had promised to join him, but what about Grantaire? He had never expected the drunkard to pledge to fight alongside him. The night Enjolras had shoved his shock aside, there were more important matters, but now he was forced to think about it. Were Grantaire’s words just a lie to gain a moment of respect? The man had shown no interest in a revolution before. The idea that Grantaire had lied made Enjolras feel… something, maybe disappointment, but not quite. He swept the feeling aside. He hoped Grantaire would come, and for now that was enough to make up his mind.

“Three guns, one for me and two to give to my comrades.”

Despiat obliged, “Hide these in your jacket. I will see you at Lamarque’s procession.”

Enjolras left the Musain and started towards Courfeyrac’s apartment, hoping to find his friend there. It seemed that fate was on his side as he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Hey Enjolras!” Courfeyrac clapped his friend on the back. “We were going to stop at my place to check on Marius before we went to find you. Looks like the plan is backwards.” He said _we_. Enjolras looked over to Grantaire.

“You came. Perhaps you are more of a revolutionary than I thought.”

“Oh no, I’m here because Courfeyrac has the best booze at his apartment and I ran out.”

“Today is not a joke, Grantaire.” Enjolras chided.

“Wait, so today is not a city-wide carnival? Oh I better go home!” Grantaire had obviously had a few drinks. Hoping Grantaire would come was one thing, hoping he would come sober, now that was wishful thinking.

Enjolras took a deep, exasperated, breath, “Are you with us or not?”

Grantaire’s expression changed into something Enjolras did not understand but desperately wanted to, “Like I said before: I am with you to the death. Truly.”

Courfeyrac interrupted the loaded silence after a moment to draw them back on topic, “Come on, let's make sure Pontmercy is awake.”

Of course Marius was still asleep. How was a lovetruck schoolboy meant to contribute to such a monumental event? Enjolras expressed his disapproval before leaving the building, his friends close behind.

“You didn’t have to be so hard on him, Enjolras.” Courfeyrac scolded.

“I wasn’t, that was the truth. The revolution has no need for his kind,” Enjolras huffed.

“Well, Enjolras,” Grantaire began, “Some of your revolutionaries are bound to be in lovestruck with someone, but you wouldn’t say that to them.”

“Yes, because they chose a high vause than their own frivolous desires.” Enjolras snapped. Grantaire’s face was strange, almost… guilty.

“Whatever you say,” Grantaire changed the subject, “Onwards to the revolution!”

As Enjolras led his friends to Lamarque’s funeral procession he considered what his friends had said. Maybe Courfeyrac was right, and he had been too hard on Pontmercy. Grantaire was definitely right, there were going to be lovestruck citizens alongside him. Hell, Grantaire was one of them. Enjolras had always elected to ignore Grantaire’s comments on love due to a dropping feeling in his stomach whenever his friend brought up love. Grantaire was taken with some girl who didn’t return his affections. That was clear to anyone who was in close range when he had too many drinks and no filter of sobriety over his words. But if Grantaire was going to the revolution instead of whoever he loved, why did he look guilty before? Had Grantaire chosen love? Was there someone in the revolution that held onto his heart. No, Enjolras did not like the idea that there would be someone waiting for Grantaire at the barricades, although he wasn’t quite sure why it made a difference to him. Grantaire was going to fight with him, so why did it matter if he was in love with someone? Conclusion: it did not, and he had wasted far too much time on this train of thought.

“Join the procession like normal mourners. I have firearms for you two ready when the time comes.” Enjolras instructed as the drumbeat in his heart thrummed in time with the crowd.


	7. Marius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marius is having both a pretty good and pretty bad time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this (pretty much???) includes the second request!!! I did it (i think???) Also, the request said something about Georges Pontmercy, I think it was supposed to be Gillenormand, but if I'm wrong sorry. Alternate title: oh thank god I finished this on time.

It was the very best day of Marius’s life. He was finally married to Cosette and they were going to live a happy life together. He glanced around the party. There were a lot of strangers that he did not know (courtesy of his grandfather), but eventually he spotted Cosette. She looked absolutely lovely in her wedding gown. She smiled and laughed as she spoke with the guests. This was truly the best day ever.

“Marius, my boy!” Gillenormand appeared next to Marius, Nicolette not far behind clearly keeping an eye on the older man. “Congratulations to you and Cosette!”

“Thank you grandfather,” Marius said with a smile.

“You know what, I’ll bet you are hardly thinking about that pesky revolution anymore.” His grandfather stopped talking when Nicolette slapped his shoulder.

“I apologize on his behalf, Marius,” she said while giving Gillenormand a death glare and dragging him away.

It was the very best day of Marius’s life. And he felt miserable.

The room warped around him. He heard gunshots and screams instead of posh laughter. The walls melted away into a dirty street with smoke in the air. Marius stepped back and bumped into a table, the jolt bringing him back to reality. He frantically looked around again, but it appeared normal.

“Congratulations Pontmercy.” He heard a voice call him from across the room and he spun towards it.

His eyes widened, “Enjolras?”

“It’s been awhile,” the specter said as blood dripped down his face.

“Marius!” A gruff voice made him turn again. “If you had told me that there was free booze I would’ve come sooner.”

“Grantaire?” Marius whispered. He felt a pull on his shoulder turn him yet again.

“Marius, it’s so good to see you. This is a great party, fancier than I’m used to, but hey I can adapt.”

Marius’s voice broke as he tried to touch the ghost’s arm, “Courfeyrac.” He felt a tear fall down his cheek.

“Marius,” he turned around one last time. “Are you okay.”

Cosette was standing in front of him with concern in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her husband until his breath slowed down.

“I saw them, Cosette.” He pulled away from the embrace, “I saw my friends.”

“Oh, Marius, they would be so happy for you.” She took his hands, “And they would want you to enjoy your day. I know that this is hard for you, but I promise it will get better. And I will be here with you every step of the way, every day.”

“You promise?” Marius asked, blinking away tears.

“We just got married, and I love you, of course I promise.” Cosette pulled him into a kiss. “Now let’s enjoy our wedding party for now. We will take life step by step, together.”

Marius nodded at his wife and wiped the remaining streaks from his face. He knew that it would not be easy to move on. Part of him would always be at the barricade, but that was okay because most of him would be with Cosette. His friends would live on in his memory and he would live on in reality.


End file.
